Dependant on a Deatheater
by Monsoon Raindrops
Summary: 7th year Hogwarts. Hermione falls for an elaborate trap, which Draco was half-hoping wouldn't work. Now, she's under his yield, and all the other deatheaters want her. Loving a Granger was never fun.
1. Orders to catch a Mudblood

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me.**

**Note: Takes place during seventh year. Voldemort is yet to be taken down. I hope you enjoy this...attempt.**

* * *

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"The Dark Lord is expecting you."

He looked up, face ashen. Trying to force a smile, but it came out twisted and dark. Dolohov raised his eyebrows, and smirked. The Malfoy brat was going to propositioned today, and his entire family's life hung in the balance.

"_Now, _Draco."

They walked shoulder to shoulder, Draco slightly taller of the two. By default, his stride should've been longer too, but they were hesitant and timid. Dolohov rolled his eyes, and pushed the door open into the parlour. Whenever The Dark Lord was resting in-between trips, this was the room he favoured most.

Dolohov could imagine way. The low-ceilings and gray décor, could suck the life out of any vibrant and colourful thing. He was itching to stay behind, and hear Draco's latest punishment. The Dark Lord hadn't been happy about Draco missing his cue to kill Dumbledore. Since then, he'd been put on torture duty.

Every person of interest who came (or rather was dragged) through those doors, was put under Draco's care. He had never heard such a hollow voice saying "Crucio" over and over again, with no meaning behind it.

"Master," he bowed, waiting to be dismissed.

"Leave," The Dark Lord didn't bother to look around.

Finally it was Draco, alone at last. But he wasn't alone, was he? The Dark Lord was sitting on a chair, facing away from him, towards the fireplace. Where the heath crackled, but no warmth was added to the room.

"Master," this time Draco bowed.

"I have a special mission, Draco. Especially for you. What do you know about that mudblood friend of Potter's?"

At those words, the contents in his stomach curdled. He wasn't a particular fan of the trio, but this focused attention on Granger was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They were currently on the run, shielding themselves miraculously well despite the odds.

"She is the brains behind the operation," Draco stated. "She is the most prepared, the most well researched. Without her help, Potter is nothing."

The Dark Lord threw back his head and laughed. It was a cruel, drawn out laugh that the deatheaters were often subjected too. Draco had never gotten used to it. Even though he was now Voldemort's right hand man, it made his skin itch every time he heard it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you hold her in high regards. Always have done, according to Lucius."

"I have never!" Draco was disgusted at this blatant lie. "She is revolting. She is too over-eagar to please. Although it was a mistake to underestimate her, I have never sought her approval or likewise."

"Then if she were to die?"

"You have my blessing, my lord," he bowed again.

"Come forward. Let me see your face."

Draco masked his face into polite apathy, and walked around the Dark Lord's chair to kneel before him. If he was showing any reluctance before, it had been transferred into submission. Draco met the scarlet eyes of his Lord. Snape had taught him how to block his mind well. Voldemort would never be able to read his thoughts.

"You only say this because she is on the run," the Dark Lord guessed. "You have every confidence she won't be caught. So you falsely accommodate me."

Draco couldn't hide the horror on his face. Truth be told, Draco imagined about Hermione Granger very little. However he was not surprised she was being brought up in this conversation. Voldemort, on occasion, called him in to question how Potter was like in Hogwarts.

The fascination was uncanny.

Potter's sleeping habits. His friends. His favourite meal of the day.

Voldemort wanted to know them all.

Draco answered hesitantly. He could sum up all the conversations he had with Potter into five paragraphs. Granger and Weasley even less. He had spent a lot of time observing Potter at Hogwarts, if only to spot his weaknesses. He knew all the answers to those questions, but they weren't firsthand knowledge.

Draco didn't know where this new angle of attack was coming from. It was like his master was trying to suggest he cared about the outcome of her life. All those times he had raved to his parents, about that bloody busybody who came out on top, was in the strictest of confidences. Maybe his parents sensed the grudging respect lingering there, but it went nothing beyond that.

She was an irritating pest.

Yes, her death was very appealing.

But he wasn't going to actively make it come into pass.

"With all due respect, my Lord, nothing can be further from the truth. She is not a person I have considered a great deal about. Should I, my Lord? Should I elevate her status from a filthy mudblood, to someone who interrupts my thoughts daily? Say the word. I shall do so immediately."

Draco held in his breath, like he was expecting a back handed slap. His tone was bordering on mutinous, but his face was anxious and withdrawn. The Dark Lord considered his daring, and decided not to punish it just this once. The boy still had a little spirit somewhere in his body. It would be entertaining to see what he did with the next task arranged.

"Draco, I ask no such thing. Instead I have something far greater planned. In order to lure Potter into a trap, I wish to capture his mudblood friend first. Torture her for information. Pass her around from deatheater to deatheater."

"To…?"

"Do whatever as they wish. I understand she has two parents she cleverly hid in Australia. Track them down. Draw her out of hiding."

"Why not just aim for Potter?" Draco furrowed his eyebrows.

"Oh, I will. Eventually. But I want to toy with him first. From what I understand, he believes love conquers all. Let that love tear him apart, as I slowly attack his family and friends."

"An easier person to target would be his other sidekick," Draco was still trying to make an easier connection. "He's a sitting duck at The Burrow, infected to the neck with spattergroit. Surely if we catch him, Potter would yield?"

The Dark Lord hissed, warning him not to question any further. Apparently his charitable mood had run out, and Draco had to settle for biting his tongue. Sweat was beading on his forehead. It was starting to dawn on him, he was now the forefront of a mission that would drag him to Australia and back.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Draco apologised. "What you say makes perfect sense. I would be happy to bring her in front of you."

"Leave."

Draco slowly rose to his feet, and placed a hand on his heart, bowing again. It felt like he was swearing allegiance to a monarch, that was now sending him out to battle. The only time he would be allowed back was with news of victory.

Dolohov was waiting to pounce, when Draco closed the door behind him.

"You haven't been screaming," he said with an air of disappointment.

"Should I have been?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"It's the only thing your mouth is good for. Well, what did our master want? I find the fact that he keeps you in his inner circle, quite staggering."

"What's staggering about it?" Draco wanted to know. "Maybe you should share your reasons in his presence."

"You cheeky bastard," Dolohov slapped the upside of Draco's head quite sharply. Draco rubbed his scalp with a pained expression, and resolved to kick the shit out of him someday.

"Are you going to tell me or what?"

"If I succeed, you will know."

"Draco!"

Both men came to a stop, when a clear sonorous voice rang across the hall. Narcissa was approaching him, holding her head up as high as a prisoner in her own home could. Draco felt a pained pang when he saw her. The only reason why he was doing this, any of this, was so his family could survive.

The threat of their executions was what was spurring him on.

"All right, Narcissa?" Dolohov smirked, and wandered off enough to give them space. He didn't go too far though. He lent on a wall further down the hallway, and started whistling an inconspicuous tune.

It was clear what the message was.

They had five minutes to talk.

"Are you hurt? Injured anywhere?" her eyes ran over him, as she asked quietly under her breath. Draco gave an imperceptible shake off his head.

"Good, good," she sighed, like her mind was put at rest. "Come to see me tomorrow."

"I won't be able too," Draco snuck a peek at Dolohov, who was still trying to act like he wasn't listening too hard. "My mission is set. I won't be able to come back until I complete it."

"Oh, Draco!" Narcissa convulsively clenched her hands like she wanted to bundle him up in her arms. The last time that had happened was embarrassing. It took three deatheaters to pry her from him, and still she struggled to continue raining kisses all over his face.

"Can you tell me what it is? Give me a clue?"

Draco shook his head again.

It was time.


	2. Breadcrumbs

**Disclaimer: Harry, love. I'm not your master!**

**Note: Merry Christmas. I would like to thank my two reviewers, and if others can join in too, great. This chapter, in no way, promotes gun violence. Now off to drink a glass of wine :)**

* * *

It had been hours since Harry disappeared with her wand. It was getting quite late, and she really wanted to start a fire.

Normally this would be no problem.

A self-contained jar could easily be conjured up, and nothing more would be thought of it. But as Hermione tried for a consecutive fourth time, to rub two pieces of bark together, the appreciation of magic hit full force.

Magic was the fabric of life.

At least, _her _life.

She was starting to regret snapping at Harry earlier. The blame could simply be placed on the Slytherin Locket, if Hermione didn't know there was an element of truth behind it. She was starting to resent the long nights they spent outdoors, though she would never admit it to Harry.

He was so confident they were close to a breakthrough, she didn't want to admit otherwise.

That was right. When he came back, she was going to apologise. Maybe she could rustle up a sandwich, with extra turkey slices and cucumber.

"Hermione, I've got news!"

Well, the sandwich had to take a backburner. The apology really couldn't wait, though she was dying to know if it was about Ron…

"It's about Hogwarts!"

Oh, OK. Not as interesting, but a very good substitute. She watched Harry burst into the tent, and wildly look around for her, even though she was curled up in her favourite spot right in front of him.

"Over here," she waved from her bunk, impatient to hear from The Daily Prophet clutched in Harry's hands. The newspaper now wielded Voldemort propaganda as a tool, and was useless about information regarding the Order, which was more underground than ever. Going by the articles, it was tough to believe there was any Potter supporters out there, though Hermione knew it was far from the case.

"Has Snape finally resigned?" she asked hopefully.

"Nothing like that," Harry shook his head. "Let me read straight from the article. It's only a column. Ahh…here it is. _The Headmaster of Hogwarts had an unusual visitor last night, in the shape of a former pupil. Draco Malfoy, who is still of school-going age, rubbed his truancy into the Professor's face, by requesting a private meeting outside office hours. A source tells me he is hunting for an address. Hunting perhaps for a kill."_

Hermione was watching Harry's face with blatant scepticism.

"I thought you were having visions of him struggling to torture prisoners? How can that kind of guy be capable of killing anyone?"

"We should be thankful," Harry closed his eyes. "A lack of bloodlust is rare in a deatheater."

* * *

A week later, the entire scenario seemed to repeat itself. Harry grimly handed over the newspaper, he had just swiped from a passing wizard in the woods.

"Read this."

Alarmed, Hermione looked down at the front page. The picture arrested her immediately. It was a large picture of a house on fire, plummets of smoke spiralling into the sky. The house was a former shadow of itself, windows long shattered. "Merlin," Hermione felt ill. "Was anybody inside? Did they manage to escape?"

Harry let out a long sigh. "It was derelict."

"Then that's good!" she cried, putting the paper aside, before the niggling got too much. "Hang on," she frowned. "Why would they put that on the front page? This was an act of arson, not murder."

"You're right," Harry raised his eyebrows. "Normally this wouldn't make third page, let alone first. Hermione, I don't know how to tell you this…but look at who the house belonged too."

Hermione snatched up the paper, this time scanning the caption. "_My parents?" _her eyes bugged. "They went after them. Well tried to at least." Her confused eyes sought out Harry. "Why would they do that?"

"To get at you, obviously," Harry stated. "It's a good thing you hid them before we came here. Seriously impressed by the way. I had to get the Ministry involved to move the Dursley's, but you did this all by yourself."

"Thank you," she didn't bask in the compliment longer than necessary. Pressing matters were on hand. "That's not what I meant. _Why _would they set fire to an empty property?"

"To gain attention," Harry suggested. "They might actually have succeeded," he jokingly nudged her side with a leg.

Hermione didn't quit frowning. She was starting to put the puzzle together, but it was taking it's sweet time. Hermione ruffled through the pages, and a title called "Requests for Ministry Transportations" caught her eye.

"Merlin," her face paled. She looked like someone had chucked a glass of milk over her face. "This is my worst nightmare come true."

"I thought that was getting 9 out of 10 on a piece of homework," Harry teased, before seeing the look on her face. "…No?"

"Draco Malfoy has put in a request for a portkey to Australia," Hermione clarified, gnawing her bottom lip with her teeth. "It all fits. Going to Hogwarts to acquire my address, which he wasted no time burning down, before booking a trip to a country where my parents coincidentally are."

Harry watched, as Hermione got up in a rush and started gathering clothes. He would have put it down to laundry, if she hadn't grabbed her purse to shove it inside. "You're clutching at straws," Harry went over and grabbed the cardigan she was trying to fold neatly. Hermione tugged it right back. "None of it-"

"Don't you dare tell me it's only happening inside my head," Hermione growled, snapping the clutch close. "I know when something's not right. Would you like to be stopped if you were in my position? Stand back and let Ginny be slaughtered? Sorry Ginny," she looked up at the ceiling. "Only using you to win the argument."

"Consider it won," Harry said shakily. "But I can't let you do this alone. It could be an ambush."

"Puh-lease," Hermione scoffed. "Do you know how big Australia is? We'll be back by nightfall, after checking their position hasn't been comprised."

"I don't know," Harry rolled his shoulders. "I feel like we're following a trail of breadcrumbs designed to entice us."

It would take a bigger person to admit Harry was right. Unfortunately, Hermione was feeling confused and worried sick. If her parents were at risk of being captured, she wanted to move them to another location. The Himalayas was a possible contender. Or a rural town in China, would work just as fine. She could change their names to Xiao Ling, and-

"Earth to Hermione? Catch!"

Instinctively she caught the item Harry had just lobbed to her. It was an empty cola can. It was the type of innocuous object, people walked by in everyday life. Wizarding folk generally favoured banal portkeys, to guarantee minimal detection when travelling.

"_Portus," _she pointed her wand, picturing the place she wanted to go. The cola can glowed bright yellow, before it faded completely. Harry stared at it, weighing it up in his mind.

"Is it ready?"

"In about ten minutes. Do you want to douse the campfire?"

The last ten minutes was spent, sweeping the dirt around the tent and other little chores. They had unanimously agreed not to bring their abode with them, because (touch wood) they were coming back relatively quick.

But it was with a sadness, she put the broom in the corner and lifted the cola can again. Harry was eager to close the gap, like he was afraid she would spirit off without him. Chance would be a fine thing! She was glad he was coming, despite how forlorn her plan had become.

"I never prepare for this bit," Harry squeezed his eyes shut, just before a hook jerked under their navels. They spun screaming into the darkness, appearing at their destination seconds later.

Harry bent over and panted. "Are we close? Tell me we're close."

"Achingly. Sneeze and they might hear you."

"Oh," Harry blinked. "Good thing I brought tissues."

Hermione, fighting back giggles, picked a plucky path through the woods that bordered an inlet of properties. Harry crouched down behind her, gazing directly into a backyard dappled with sunlight. Through the kitchen window, he spied a man in his early forties snogging his wife. They were clearly in the middle of baking something. Flour was everywhere. The man was even fishing raisins out of the woman's undergarments-

Harry spun around to dry-heave. There was no point asking Hermione if her parents were all right. Anybody with two eyes, could tell they were laying foundations for another baby. Hermione looked far from heartbroken. If they weren't currently hidden in some foliage, Harry had good suspicion she would be a vocal spectator.

"This takes voyeurism to a whole new level," he paused to continue, when Hermione squeaked, and threw herself flat on the ground.

"What?" He looked up and down. "What happened?"

"My dad just saw me!" she hissed. "My mother too."

"Oh great," Harry threw his hands up. "How did they look?"

"Pretty mad."

"Understandable if I was in their shoes," Harry nodded, now daring to look back at the kitchen window. Not a soul was to be seen. The next second, he was biting his words, when the back door was thrown open and Mr. Granger appeared with a rifle.

"They've got a _gun?" _he yelped, shaking Hermione still lying prostate on the floor. "I think that's our cue to leave. NOW!"

A gunshot ricocheted through the air, whistling past Harry's ear.

"Are you satisfied?" he yelled. "I think they can handle their own against unwanted visitors!"

Suddenly, they were running. Back from whence they came. The cola can had long been dropped, but Hermione was perfectly content to create another illegal portkey. In fact, she was kind of banking on it. They wheezed another hundred yards, still shouting at each other.

"Stop being presumptuous!"

"Hermione, I'm entitled to my opinions. Even Voldemort would think twice, before breaking down their door."

"HARRY!" she cried, distraught.

There was footsteps behind them, raising suspicion to believe Mr. Granger was still giving chase. Harry darted off to the right, leaving Hermione to head straight on. She was just sailing over a branch, mid-leap, when a jet of red light skimmed her shoes.

"Stupefy!"

What the hell?

Someone with magical power was chasing her. Hermione snarled, when another jet missed by inches. She sent spells flying behind her, but all she was rewarded with were masculine grunts.

"Granger! Stop! We have you surrounded!"

Draco emerged from the trees, and started keeping pace with her. There was quite a distance separating them, but he was trying to navigate towards her general vicinity and still keep the speed. Well, one would have to give. Without warning, Hermione veered to the right, away from him, and nearly fell into a twenty foot gulley disguised as a heap of leaves. She threw her arms out, teetering on the verge and looked over her shoulder.

Draco was eating up ground, faster than a rattlesnake.

"STUPEFY!"

The spell hit her square in the back, just as gravity overpowered Hermione's body and it went into freefall.

Draco ran to the tip of the bank, fully expecting a dead body at the bottom.


End file.
